


The way

by NRGburst



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-28
Updated: 2013-02-28
Packaged: 2017-12-03 21:40:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/702914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NRGburst/pseuds/NRGburst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even if it takes a whole lifetime, they'll find a way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The way

She can never figure out how he does it, but he always finds a way. The first year there’s an envelope in the box with the Red Velvet cupcakes her mom always gets. The next it comes sandwiched inside her car insurance renewal forms. And so on. She laughs out loud the year she finds it in her cleaning caddy.

  
Inside is always a card wishing her happy birthday with a little clue about where he’s been- lyrics from “Werewolves of London”, a little sketch of Uluru, a card made from Japanese _washi._ And a charm commemorating what she’s proud of doing that year: a cap with a tassel, a tiny set of scales, a little house. She never takes off the bracelet except to change up the charms, although it sometimes makes her cry to see how many there are now to sift through in her jewelry box. But it’s a reminder that while he’s still alive there is hope; hope that burns stronger every year that Klaus stays in New Orleans, with every text or email she gets.

  
When her mom dies, it’s hard. They’d flown out every few months for a visit until she’d grown too frail; talked every day on the phone or Skype up until the end. She’s the very last Forbes in the family plot, and that makes her sad when she sees how overgrown the Lockwood plot is already.

  
She makes a mental note to compel somebody to tend them once she leaves town. At least the Gilbert plot looks decent- she wonders who is doing due diligence there. Maybe Elena still visits once in a while.

  
She expects the pointed comments about how amazing she looks and makes evasions about the wonders of Botox and raw, vegan diets at the wake. If only they knew, she thinks with mild amusement. But she stiffens when she overhears a couple women speculating.

  
Crap. There have been no supernatural problems here for years- how could she have forgotten that old stories still get passed down?

  
She’s trying not to panic when Bonnie calmly inserts herself into the conversation.

“Let’s not be ridiculous- she’s a Founding family member and her mom was the sheriff for years. If anybody knows Caroline Forbes, it’s me, and let’s be frank- she lives in L.A. now. Tummy tucks and implants are practically standard.”

  
They sigh and shake their heads and turn to sharing stories about how she was always the one worried about looking hot in a bikini and guessing at what she’s had done. She turns and shares a smile with her old friend, who gives her a wink. They’ve all but lost touch, but some connections never die.

  
She sells the house; boxes up the last things for charity, scans the last few photos into digital memory and archives them online. With this last tie gone, they’re free. Bonnie can protect herself; the rest of the gang have scattered to the winds.

  
So she books a plane ticket under a brand new alias and drops her phone into the toilet at the airport. If they’re going to spend forever running, they’re going to start where she wants, even if it’s cliché.

  
She tries not to be disappointed when she doesn’t spot him in the crowd at arrivals, when he’s not in the lobby of the hotel. So she asks the clerk about directions to the café she’s highlighted in her guidebook after he’s checked her in. He assures her the map in the book is correct and that a bellboy will bring her bags to the room shortly.

  
Up in her room, she splashes water on her face and opens the window to stare at the Eiffel tower, standing tall in the distance. No big deal. She’ll go to the café and do Paris her own way until he finds her. He probably just hasn’t checked her blog yet, or she hid her trail a bit too well.  
There’s a knock at the door, and she peels off a couple crisp euros for the tip before she opens it.

  
She just stands there for a second, stunned.

  
And then they’re crashing into each other, laughing and kissing and crying.

  
She tugs him inside and kicks the door shut and he drops her bags, laughing at just how eager she is. There’s a kind of uncertainty in his eyes even if she can feel the hunger in the way he kisses her- he doesn’t want to push this, push her. This has been the long distance relationship of the century.

  
“Keep this up and we won’t be doing any sightseeing for awhile,” he says.

  
She grins and flings him onto the bed before speeding over to straddle him, re-familiarizing herself with his smell, the feel of his hair under her fingers, the way he still looks at her like she’s the most amazing person he’s ever known. She’s still crying a little but at last it’s because she’s happy.

  
“Sounds like a plan,” she replies.

**Author's Note:**

> Uluru used to be known as Ayers Rock.


End file.
